


Sod the Scotch

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Mycroft, Clothed Sex, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smoking, Top Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Greg's divorce is final, he figures it's time to go to his new flat and drink a bottle of scotch. Alone. Mycroft, however, has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sod the Scotch

Greg huddled under the awning, smoking the last cigarette in his pack, bag slung over his shoulder and rain pouring down. It was fine. The weather matched his mood. 

Suddenly the rain splashing on his shoes ceased. He looked up and realized Mycroft was standing in front of him, holding his umbrella over both of them.. 

“Do you have a light?” He asked. 

Greg raised an eyebrow. The man probably carried a monogrammed gold lighter or something. Given to him by the queen. But he'd asked so Greg politely produced his cheap disposable and lit it for him. 

The both stood in silence for a long moment as the rain continued its merciless beat. 

“Didn't know you smoked,” said Greg, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

“It's an occasional indulgence. My job has, from time to time, a lot of stress.”

Greg couldn't quite meet those blue eyes. “I know what you mean.” He shifted the bag on his shoulder. 

“I know you were planning on taking a cab once you finished, but perhaps you'd allow me to take you to your flat?”

Greg was glad he hadn't called it home. It wasn't really, not yet. “I'd planned on drinking a good bottle of scotch. Care to join me?”

“Seems the customary thing to do when a marriage ends, even an unhappy one. I'd be honored to join you.”

Greg gave a weak smile. “Thanks.” He took one more drag and threw the butt away. Mycroft looked down the street, finishing his own. Greg couldn’t help but notice his lips, his elegant fingers, the perfect posture. The way he held the umbrella perfectly still despite the weather, as if he were Nelson’s Column, unperturbed and unmoved by the city around him.

Finally Mycroft finished. He gave Greg a nod and headed up the street. Greg found himself huddling close to stay dry and couldn’t help but breath in the scent lingering in the man’s wool coat. It was intoxicating and dangerous and Greg knew that his evening wouldn’t go exactly as planned. And that was more than fine.

A car pulled up to the kerb. Mycroft opened the door for him and kept the umbrella in place so he wouldn’t get wet as he got in. Mycroft followed him, carefully closing his umbrella and then the door.

Greg settled in the seat and put his bag on the floor as they moved into London traffic. “I don’t have to go to the flat,” he said quietly.

“Ah, but that is where your excellent scotch is,” said Mycroft, doing some work on his mobile and not looking up.

“True,” said Greg, feeling anticipation low in his belly. For years they had danced around one another. Greg had caught occasional looks his way, and certainly admired Mycroft from afar. But he’d been married and Mycroft was running the country or whatever it was he actually did and it seemed that vague longing would be all it ever would be.

Then his wife had dropped the divorce on his lap. Greg hadn’t fought it.. The bag contained the last few things he’d taken from his old house. The plan had been to take a cab home and drink until he passed out; this was much better.

Greg looked out the window, watched the rain. The sound of Mycroft tapping on keys echoed the rain on the roof. It all felt like when the world went still just before a storm.

Arriving at the drab block of flats, Mycroft exited first, again holding the umbrella so that Greg wouldn’t get wet. They climbed the stairs to Greg’s flat and he unlocked the door, aware of Mycroft standing behind him, the man’s hot breath just tickling his neck.

Stepping inside, Greg moved to flip on the lights as Mycroft closed the door. “It’s not much,” he said apologetically, gesturing at the nearly bare living room that practically screamed ‘recent divorce’.

Mycroft leaned his umbrella against the wall and hung up his coat on a hook before stepping once again behind Greg. Greg’s heart caught in his throat as Mycroft's hand curled around his hip and held it. “So where is this scotch?” he asked, practically purring in Greg’s ear. Greg felt his knees wobble.

“Sod the scotch,” growled Greg, turning in his grip and kissing him hard, one hand fisting his suit jacket.

Mycroft groaned against him, flipping them and pinning Greg to the wall. Greg opened his mouth to him and Mycroft licked his way inside. Greg’s other hand came up to Mycroft’s hair, encouraging him. It had been ages since Greg had been with anyone and as far as he was concerned he _deserved_ this.

Panting into Mycroft’s delicious mouth, Greg let go of him in order to reach his shirt buttons. Mycroft needed to be naked and in his bed, sooner rather than later. Mycroft grabbed his wrists and pinned them by his head.

“Patience,” he muttered, kissing down Greg’s jaw.

“ _Patience_? Mycroft Holmes, do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Greg’s head dropped back with a thunk as Mycroft worked his way down his throat.

“As long as I have,” said Mycroft, with all the easy confidence of a Holmes. “I want to savor you. And I also don’t want to come in these trousers and ruin them.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. That sounded like a challenge. He pushed away from the wall and all but dragged Mycroft down the hall to his bedroom, pushing him into the bed and climbing over him. “Oh I’m going to ruin you, Mycroft,” promised Greg wickedly.

He pulled Mycroft’s hair, tilting his head and exposing his throat. The first few buttons had been undone, so he sucked a mark into that pale skin, just over the collarbone. Mycroft’s hips bucked against him, Greg rolled his hips in response, feeling their trapped erections grinding against one another through layers of clothes.

Greg raised his head and looked Mycroft in the eye. “If I rip this shirt off of you am I going to find myself patrolling a station in Australia?”

A smiled curled the corners of Mycroft’s lips and he shook his head.

“Good.” Greg grabbed his shirt and yanked it open, buttons scattering to the far corners of the room.

Greg paused for a moment to admire Mycroft’s skin, to enjoy the spattering of freckles and the soft red hair that trailed down his chest and stomach.

“I thought you didn’t want to savor?” asked Mycroft, looking up to him with a glint in his eye.

Greg leaned down and nipped his lower lip, continuing to roll his hips. He experimentally nipped at Mycroft’s shoulder, and, finding that earned him a groan and jerk of the hips, bit harder before marking his skin again. He wanted Mycroft to remember this every time he took a shower for the next week. Maybe wank off, remembering the feel of Greg. Only fair, Greg thought, he’d been wanking off thinking of Mycroft for years.

Licking the mark he’d just made, Greg rolled his hips a little harder, a little faster. It had been some time, but he’d always had great stamina. On the other hand, Mycroft’s breath was coming in short pants, eyes closed as if he were concentrating.

Smirking, Greg pulled his hair again and bit down on the lobe of Mycroft’s ear. Mycroft gasped and Greg could feel the warm spreading damp where he’d come in his trousers.

“You’re going to have to have Anthea bring you a fresh suit in order to leave,” whispered Greg in his ear. “And she’s going to know why.”

“She would know anyway. That’s what I pay her for,” grumbled Mycroft, apparently a bit grouchy after all about the suit. Time to fix that.

Greg kissed down his chest, worshiped his soft stomach for a moment, then undid his trousers. He pulled off the remains of the shirt and Mycroft’s suit jacket, then tugged down his trousers and pants without resistance. 

Mycroft propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Greg removed his shoes and socks, then finished taking off his trousers and pants, leaving him gloriously naked. His cock was going soft in a nest of red hair, everything looking a bit sticky and wet.

Greg leaned in and licked up his thigh, tasting his seed, making Mycroft moan and spread his legs. He heard when he dropped back onto the bed and smiled against his skin, licking up the other thigh. Breathing in the scent of him, he kissed Mycroft’s cock and raised his head. “May I fuck you?”

“I rather hope you would,” said Mycroft, glancing up at the ceiling, then looking back down at him. “Perhaps you should undress first, however.”

Chuckling, Greg got to his feet, toed off his own shoes, and stripped teasingly, allowing Mycroft to enjoy the view. His cock ached as it was freed, but he didn’t touch himself. By the time he finished, Mycroft had a hand on his own cock, stroking slowly, but not quite hard again. They were both far past the age of an immediate turn around.

Greg gave him a proper kiss. “I think I have condoms and I know I have lube, give me a minute.” He padded into the bathroom, grabbing the lube and checking a box under the sink he knew was full of miscellaneous stuff. Finding some, he turned back to the bedroom, only to freeze in the doorway.

Mycroft had rolled onto his knees against the headboard, bracing himself with one arm, the other hand slowly fingering himself with one digit. Greg stood transfixed for a long moment, then swore and moved forward.

Leaning down, he nipped Mycroft’s arse cheek. “Naughty,” he said, voice dark and thick with desire.

“You were taking some time,” said Mycroft, smirking over his shoulder and removing his finger.

Greg kissed him slowly as he lubed his fingers. He blindly found Mycroft’s arse, stroking his rim before pressing two into him.

Mycroft groaned and rocked back against him. Greg kissed his arm, his shoulder, his back, touching him all over as he opened him, needing this man, but not wanting to hurt him either. 

“I’m not a delicate flower or blushing virgin,” growled Mycroft. “Take me.”

“Just like this?” asked Greg, moving behind him. “Up against my headboard? You want it hard, don’t you? Rough.” He pulled Mycroft’s hair, forcing his head back and nibbling on his throat. The breathy moan told him everything he needed to know.

Part of Greg could barely believe he was finally getting to do this, finally getting to be inside Mycroft Holmes. He wanted everything with him. Pressing against his back, he got a whiff of that same intoxicating scent that had lingered in his coat. Greg lined up his cock and started pressing in.

Mycroft groaned and pushed back, his body clearly demanding Greg. Growling, Greg pushed in harder, faster, pulling back only a little before pushing deeper.

“Yes, yes, Gregory,” moaned Mycroft. The way his said his name went straight to Greg’s cock. He bottomed out and held himself there, feeling Mycroft writhing underneath him, clearly craving more. “God, Gregory, _please_!"

Grinning, Greg nipped his skin again and pulled Mycroft from the headboard, twisting them so he was on his knees with his forearms on the bed. The angle allowed Greg to go deeper. He kept one hand on Mycroft’s back to keep him in place.

“Mine, Mycroft, all mine,” he was practically purring, watching the way Mycroft moved, the way that pale freckled skin looked against his dark sheets. Mycroft had his head turned to the side, eyes screwed tightly shut. His hands were fisted, as if all his considerable concentration of will was on Greg alone and what he was doing. It was tremendous.

Greg held his hips and slammed into him, pushing soft grunts out of his mouth. “Beautiful,” he whispered, almost reverently.

The comment made Mycroft crack one eye open to look at him, only for those blue depths to slam shut with a small cry as Greg found his prostate.

“So close,” muttered Greg. “I’m gonna fill you up.” He paused suddenly. “Christ, I forgot the condom.”

Mycroft opened his eye again. “We’re both clean. You got tested after your last one night stand, four months ago. I was tested a week ago, when I knew that this night would most likely occur.”

“Confident bastard,” Greg pulled out all the way and flipped him onto his back before pushing his legs up and kissing him hard as he thrust into him again.

Mycroft moaned and wrapped his legs around Greg’s waist. Greg pinned his wrists, marking his shoulder before kissing him again, feeling his orgasm just beginning to crest. Mycroft was sweaty underneath him, his hair a mess, skin flushed and Greg knew that he’d done that, that he was responsible for Mycroft in this state.

He thrust deep, eyes closing as he came, panting against Mycroft’s mouth, swallowing his small cries. Greg lay against him for a long moment, feeling their hearts pounding in sync. Reluctantly, he carefully pulled out and collapsed on his side. Mycroft rolled to face him, smiling softly as he gave Greg tender kisses.

“Gregory,” he said after long moments, when they both had their breath back. He ran one hand through Greg’s hair. Greg was certain he’d never seen the elder Holmes truly _happy_ before.

Smiling, Greg kissed him back. “You’re not going anywhere the rest of the night. And I think now would be a good time for the scotch.” He gently ghosted his hand over Mycroft's hip, raising goosebumps.

“I think you’re right,” said Mycroft, not moving. “Only you don’t actually want the scotch.”

“True,” said Greg pulling him to his chest and tugging the blanket over them. “I have everything I want and need, right here.”

Greg felt Mycroft’s smile. Outside the rain had slowed. Mycroft fell asleep in his arms, and all was right in Greg’s world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the writing group for the encouragement.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
